Chapter 5 - Bonding

Willow tapped her fingers on her thigh. Her body was an almost perfect right angle; she looked like she had had her back measured against a set square.

"Relax, Willow!" Buffy said, placing her hand on Willow's arm. "It's a date in disguise, not an exam."

"Really?" A few wrinkles appeared on Willow's forehead. "Dates are all 'looks: B, charm: A-, table manners C, Pop culture knowledge: F.' I'm happy that itís at least not going on my permanent record."

"Overdramatic much? You're gonna get one of those disorders with wacky names if you don't give this super-serious attitude a rest soon."

"I'm not being overdramatic, I'm being realistic. Every detail is a subtle signal." She narrowed her eyes. "Didn't you dump a guy last year because of his CD collection?"

"He owned the complete works of Barry Manilow! That ranks only a notch lower than crack-addiction on the universal scale of un-datability factors." Buffy smiled. "Believe me, you have no such insano flaws. I'm your buddy, I should know."

"But that's the thing, you're biased!" She waved her hand at Buffy. "You're like those parents of psycho killers who go: 'ooh, but he's such a nice guy. He brought us packages of minced meat every week.'"

"You're not a psycho killer, Willow." Buffy was both concerned and amused by Willow's neuroticism. "You're just a nice girl who thinks too much. He's gonna think you're great!"

"Right. Gonna think I'm great." She said, pouting. "Oh, how did the parental dinner go?" she continued, eager to leave the earlier subject.

Buffy grimaced. "Well, there were all the ingredients: tension, bribing and screaming."

"Oh, joy."

The sudden sound of the doorbell made Willow twitch.

"Don't be discouraged, Snack Man to the rescue!" a voice from the other side of the door said.

Willow relaxed. "Xander wanted to come," she said as she got up to open the door. "He seemed a bit down when I talked to him yesterday, so I thought he could use some company and carbohydrate consumption."

Xander was standing in the hallway, holding two large bags of chips.

"You know it's just the four of us, not any crowds of starving third world orphans?" Willow asked.

"You can never have too many snacks," Xander said as he dumped the bags on the living room table. "It's a motto. No, how about some bowls?"

As Xander disappeared into the kitchen, the doorbell once again rang. Willow froze.

"Go on, open the door," Buffy said, smiling encouragingly.

"Yeah, it looks like wonderboy is here," Xander commented from the kitchen.

"Behave, Xander," Willow frowned. "No embarrassing nickname usage tonight, thank you very much."

"I'll be good, I swear!"

As Willow wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and walked to the door, Xander stuck out his head through the doorpost and Buffy scooted over on the sofa and leaned over to get a view of the front door. When Willow responded by giving them The Glare of Death, Buffy raised her hands defensively and Xander disappeared back into the kitchen, whistling.

Willow took another breath and opened the door. "Hello," she chirped.

"Hello," Oz answered.

For a moment, they looked at each other in silence. Willow stood stiffly, holding the door open with a firm grip. Oz put his hands in his pockets with a look that was adorable and laid-back all in one. "Oh, come in!" She finally blurted out and motioned with her hand. "You know, it's... probably easier to watch the movie, then."

"Well, it's either that or some kind of crazy periscope contraption," Oz said as he entered the apartment and shed his jacket.

Willow smiled nervously. "I think you would need some sort of gripping device for the snacks too. So I vote against it. Not that a periscope wouldn't be fun."

"Makes me think of evil communists, though. And Sean Connery's beard."

"Oh, I had that dream! But there were killer owls made of marshmallows too, and eleven little carpet salesmen from Norway."

"How did the communists and the beard fit in?"

"Well, they were all cousins."

Oz looked at her for a moment and hinted a smile. "You're a strange girl. Good kind of strange, though. Like Dr Pepper."

A big grin erupted on Willow's lips. "Oh... thanks.... um...I guess." For a moment they looked at each other, then Willow turned and led the way into the living room, grinding her hands together.

"Oz, Buffy and Xander," Willow said as she motioned briefly with her hand. "Buffy and Xander, this is... well, that sentence is kind of pointless when you think about it."

"Hi Oz!" Buffy said. "We have heard soo much about you." As Willow glared at her, she continued, "Oh, I mean, she briefly mentioned you. In really vague terms."

"I hope you like chips," Xander said as he placed a couple of bowls on the table and began filling them up. "'Cause we've got lots of them."

As Oz walked over to the sofa and passed Buffy, she mouthed 'cute' silently to Willow, putting a smile on her lips.

Half an hour into the movie, conversation started to draw their attention away from the TV. "Why does that girl have a reflection?" Xander whined. "She's a vampire!"

"Well, maybe she's a mutant. Like an X-Man vampire or something," Buffy suggested.

"Wonder if she could beat Wolverine?" Oz contemplated.

"No way," Xander answered with a smile. "He's got those kick-ass adamantium claws."

"Drifting off into comic book land, are we?" Buffy said, looking over at Willow.

"Oh, but I don't mind! Actually... I kind of had a thing for Marvel when I was younger. I have all the issues of X-Men until 1997."

"Really?" Buddy raised an eyebrow. "You never told me."

"Well, it's... pretty geeky." Willow looked a bit embarrassed.

"I like Nightcrawler," Oz said, looking at Willow.

"Oh, so do I!" Willow said with a grin.

Before they could continue on their path through colored pages, the doorbell rang. "Expecting someone?" Buffy asked, looking over at Willow.

"Nope," she answered as she got up to answer the door, reluctant to end the superhero bonding with Oz.

As she opened the door, her breath hitched a little for a split second as her eyes fell on Spike. Though girls and not-so-straight guys usually flocked around him like hungry wildlife, she never had joined the drooling choir. He was nice, but not her type. Not like it mattered, since he was out of her league anyway. But dressed in impossibly snug jeans and a blue, skin-tight, semi-transparent sweater, he was salty goodness with a yummy coating of naughtiness. Instead of his usual slicked-back hair, he had a stylish version of bed hair. Not bad. Really.

"Hi Red," he said, slouching a little bit, his hands in his pockets. "Just wanted to pick up the new schedule. You took one for me, right?"

"Yup," Willow said, snapping out of her dirty thoughts. "Going somewhere?" she asked as she started looking for her handbag.

"Been somewhere. Goin' home," he said, sounding a bit grumpy.


"Well, I went to some lame bar with Clem. A couple of hours of country covers and Clem discussing feng shui was all I could take." He glanced towards the living room. "Got guests?"

"Yeah, we're watching Underworld," she said.

"Oh, love it. Bloody stupid that the vampires have reflections, though."

Willow smiled. "We already established that fact. I must have left my purse in the living room. Why don't you come in?"

As they entered the living room, two pairs of eyes fell on Spike. If this were a movie, the camera would be zooming in, and some intense musical score would be playing.

The hazel ones belonged to Buffy.

She felt a sudden rush of heat at the sight of her gorgeous co-worker. He looked hot. Really hot. Bad Buffy, she thought. Boy has boyfriend. But she couldn't help it. The friendly PG-rated feelings she had had for him these last few days were suddenly MIA, lost in the desolate jungles of her mind behind the enemy lines of her awakening hormones.

Xander's gaze, on the other hand, was less appreciative. His jaw was twitching a little and his eyes narrowed when he looked over at Spike. Suddenly he spat out, "Oh, did Angel let you come out and play?"

"Huh?" Spike turned to Xander and raised an eyebrow. "Is this about yesterday?" Spike asked with an expression of irritation and confusion.

"No, it's about how you always drop me for Angel. And everything and everyone else too, by the way." Xander crossed his arms.

Buffy, Willow and Oz looked at the abruptly erupting argument in confusion, mouths slightly agape, except for Oz, who just looked vaguely intrigued.

"Are we having some kind of "talk" here all of a sudden?" Spike asked, mirroring Xander's crossed arms.

"Well, I'm just tired of you dropping our plans every time Angel winks an eye!"

Spike was getting ticked off. "I don't...!" His lips tightened for a moment. "Oh, I know what this is about!" he said, pointing at Xander with an accusing finger. "It's all about your homophobic bullshit as usual! You have never accepted that I have a boyfriend! You have hated Angel since the moment I started seein' him!"

"I might not like Angel," Xander stood up and faced Spike. "But it's because he's creepy, not because he's got a dick! I'm not homophobic!"

It felt almost like one of those stupid cowboy showdown scenes. Xander and Spike were staring at each other as if they each expected to make the other one run away screaming with a glare alone. Cue crickets and tumbleweed.

"Oh, yeah?" Spike crossed his arms and tilted his head, grinning. "You know, I was kind of thinkin' about goin' to Rapture later. Why don't you guys follow me? Or is it too much gayness for you, Xander?" His voice had a taunting tone.

"I... I wouldn't mind going to Rapture. But, there's a d... a movie watching thing going on here, and..."

"And also, your poor manliness would probably self-destruct."

"That does it! We're going to Rapture!" Xander said, silently cursing how easy he was to maneuver.

It was Oz's voice that finally broke the silence. "So, Rapture, is it some kind of gay club?"

"Yeah," Spike answered, tearing his eyes away from Xander's fuming gaze. "The best."

"Cool. I've never been to a gay club before. Being straight and all."

Willow and Buffy looked at each other. "I guess we're going out," Buffy said. She gave Willow a sympathetic look, but she couldn't help letting her eyes trail back to Spike for a moment. 'Mmm. Yummy'.

Willow slumped back on the sofa and gave Oz a pale smile. Goodbye date in disguise, hello gay clubbing.

* * * * * *

Six months earlier

"You're my hero!" Xander stated as Spike pulled out the six-pack and placed it on the living room table. "I forgot to drop by at the store on my way home."

"Well, you provide the big TV, it's only reasonable that I bring the beer." Spike fell back into one of the armchairs, casually throwing one leg over the armrest while opening a can. "The game should start soon. It's almost 7."

"Yeah," Xander said as he sat down into the other chair, turning on the TV. The sound of commentators trying to prophesize over the upcoming game filled the room.

"So, what have you been doing lately?" Xander asked as he opened a beer of his own. "Haven't seen you around too much for a couple of weeks. You know, if you're plotting to take over the world, I want in on it."

"Well, I've just been busy," Spike said and took a sip of his beer. He paused for a moment. "Actually, I'm seein' someone."

Xander stiffened a little. "Why haven't you told me?"

"I'm tellin' you now," Spike said, his eyes locked on the screen.

"So, who is she?" Xander looked both curious and disappointed.

Spike took another sip, still looking closely at the commentators. "He."


"It's a bloke."

Xander stared at Spike for a moment, then burst out laughing. "No, really. Who is she?"

As Spike looked at him with a dead serious expression, Xander quickly choked on his chuckles. "A guy. You're... you're seeing a guy?"

"Well, yeah."

"But... but..." Xander suddenly looked a bit pale. "You're straight! You've had girlfriends! You ogle the silicone-enhanced temp girl! You like Cleopatra 2525, and god knows, nobody watches that series for the plot!"

Spike felt some real discomfort creeping around in his gut. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't give a damn. But this was Xander. His best friend Xander. And he was supposed to be all supportive and understanding. Not like he had really expected him to, if he were being honest with himself. Xander liked to keep people in clearly labeled boxes. Women were women, men were men, and gays were the people on TV who redecorated homes in stupid colors and force-sprayed unsuspecting guys with fake suntan. They weren't people who were currently sitting in his armchair, drinking beer and waiting for the football game to start.

"Well, as it turns out, I like both apples and pears."


"It's a metaphor, Xan. I'm bi."

"You... got a pear craving, just like that?" Xander shifted in his chair. "I mean, if you're an apple guy, you're an apple guy, right?"

"Well, it's not like I haven't thought about pears..." Spike grimaced. "Guys before."

The horror on Xander's face hinted that he suddenly recalled all the times they had been naked together in locker rooms, showers, and other nude-ish situations.

"Not you, Xander!" Spike said, knowing all to well where Xander's mind was spinning off to. "It's not like I wanna shag every bloke I see! Well, a lot of them... but not you! You're my friend. Period."

Spike using the word shag and bloke in the same sentence seemed to rattle Xander even more. "Oh, the game... the game is starting!" he stuttered.

They both sat back in their chairs, staring at the TV in silence.

"Angel," Spike said after a couple of minutes.


"His name is Angel."

"Oh... right."

* * * * * *

The bass vibrated through their bodies as a constantly repeating earthquake. Brightly colored lights pulsed around them and painted the dancing crowds into a big red, green and blue mass of bodies. Buffy, Willow, Xander and Oz clung together, looking around with wide eyes. This wasn't like any other club they had been to before. They closely followed Spike, who confidently walked through the room, nodding at a few acquaintances on the way.

As they reached the bar, Spike looked back at his little herd and chuckled at some at their timid expressions. "Get us some pretty colorful drinks, won't you," Spike said to the bartender.

The bartender looked over at the gang and smiled. "So, Spike, bringing straight people for a field trip?"

Spike grinned. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, yeah," the bartender said as he mixed together a pink fluid and poured it in five high glasses.

As they reached for their glasses, Spike looked over at Xander. "Scared yet?"

"Ooh, men, drinks, music, lights. Yeah, that's the stuff that horror movies are made of," Xander said, glaring at Spike.

"If you say so," Spike said, sipping on his drink.

Willow sighed at their adolescent behavior, and looked over at Oz. This night hadn't gone as planned, but it might still be salvageable. "So, Oz," she said. "Do you want to get a table?"


As they made their way through the crowd, Oz turned to Willow. "What's up with those two?"

Willow shook her head. "Don't really know. Friendship stuff." Willow grimaced. "EhmÖ Sorry about all the craziness. Usually we're all normal. Especially me. I'm super normal, really. Nope, no craziness here." They spotted a table and sat down.

"I don't think so."

Willow twitched. "What?"

"Completely normal people are boring. You're not boring."

"Oh... oh, thanks." Willow blushed. "Neither are you."

* * * * * *

Xander walked aimlessly past the dancing men, trying his best not to come into contact with naked skin or any clothed delicate body parts. When he got the other side of the room, he leaned back against the wall, quickly sinking his drink. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this out of place. Maybe some high school gym class. Possibly during rope climbing. 'Need more booze,í he thought. He walked up to a nearby bar and, with an uncomfortable expression, squeezed in between two large men. "Give me something strong," he said as he finally caught the bartender's attention. He was handed a large glass filled with a clear liquid, and as soon as he had paid he started sipping the soothing fluid.

"Hi there, come here often?" When Xander turned, he found that a guy had walked up to him and was looking at him with a friendly smile.

Xander unconsciously backed up against the bar, looking almost startled. "No... no I don't... I'm just... I'm here with Spike, a friend, not boyfriend... just regular... I mean... girls! I like girls!"

The other guy looked at Xander with amusement. "Take it easy, I'm just making conversation."

"Well, just want to make clear. I... I'm not a guy guy... Oh, not like I... have problem with it, just..." Xander took a big drink from his glass.

"A little bit nervous?"

"Um... well... kind of."

"Well, don't be. Gay people don't bite." He grinned. "Unless you want them to, of course." When Xander jumped a little, he laughed. "Sorry, I'm just teasing you. Bad gay man. I'm Tom, by the way."

"Um... Xander," he said, waving his hand weakly. Xander's gaze suddenly fell on Tom's t-shirt, and his eyes lit up. "Spirited Away? You like anime?"

"Well, yeah! I love it! Especially Spirited Away. It's so cool! Too bad they only showed it in a dubbed version on the theaters. I had to watch it on DVD to get the good version. Dubbing is such a blasphemy."

"My point exactly!" Xander said before sinking the last of his drink.

* * * * * *

Buffy watched Spike's resolute expression as he stared out into the crowd, fiddling with his straw. She wanted to ask what was going on with him and Xander, but this was neither the time nor the place. And furthermore, it was none of her business. Instead, she joined him in studying the people who were dancing around them. After a while, she sighed and looked down at her drink. "If my trainer knew I was staying up late, drinking, he would keelhaul me. Or whatever the appropriate 21st century equivalent is. Stripping of email privileges?"

Spike seemed to momentarily transfer some of the mental energy previously assigned to sulking to make conversation. "What do you train in?"

"Boxing. I've got a competition in a few days, so I really should be in Shaolin Monk-mode right now."

Suddenly Spike was very attentive. "Boxing? That's not really a common thing for women."

"Well, the girlie manual was in German, so I guess I assembled me wrong," Buffy said, crossing her arms.

"Didn't mean it like that. Think it's pretty cool, that's all." Spike relaxed in his chair. "For a while I was thinkin' about takin' it up myself, actually. Never got around to it, though."

"Really?" Buffy smiled at Spike. "If you want to, I could get you started. I could use some training in thinking through the techniques. Usually you're so absorbed in it, you don't really think too much." Good, altruistic Buffy. No thoughts about a shirtless and sweaty Spike. No siree.

"Sure!" Spike smiled. "When do we start?"

"Why not tomorrow?" Buffy drank some more of the pink stuff. "I planned on going down to the boxing club around noon; I can pick you up if you don't live too far away."

"937 Madison Road, apartment 32D, next to that really big Mormon church. It's not far."

Buffy pulled up a piece of paper for her handbag and wrote it down. "Well, then it's settled. I'll come by around half past 11, so be ready."

"I can practically hear the Rocky soundtrack already," he grinned.

A few reminders of her dinner with Hank came seeping through uninvited past Spikeís bursting enthusiasm. Her shoulders suddenly slumped a little. "I wished that everybody were as boxing-friendly."

"Unsupportive friends?"

"Unsupportive parent." Buffy stabbed her drink with the straw.

"That sucks."

"'I'm not sure it's a suitable activity for you, dear,'" she quoted with a cynical tone. "Dads are like some freaky alien pod people race," she said and looked up at Spike. "Don't you think?"

Spike stiffened and broke eye contact. "Dunno, mine was... pretty normal."

"Oh... he is...?" Buffy's eyes widened when she realized her blunder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be offensive."

"No, it's ok." He looked up at her again with eyes that somewhat ruined the casual look he was aiming for. "It was a long time ago. High school."

"That must have been hard." Buffy leaned closer.

"Uh. Well..." He tapped his fingers on the table. "I... I guess." He turned silent for a moment. "Bloody stupid to get a brain hemorrhage at his age," he muttered, looking down into his drink.

"So he was no pod person, huh?" Buffy said in a soft voice.

"No, he was... he was nice. Really nice." He blinked. "I miss him." As he spoke the words he looked embarrassed, like he had just handed over some government blueprints to a shady looking guy with a Russian accent.

"Naturally," she said, studying him closely. "If my dad died I would be heartbroken. And he's kind of a good-for-nothing bastard, so I couldn't imagine how it would be if we actually were friends."

Spike looked at her in silence. As he opened his mouth to tell her how right she was, he suddenly saw a familiar face looking at him through the crowd. Instinctively he pulled back a little from Buffy.

Angel moved past the dancing people like Moses, commanding a path through the crowd. His eyes were locked on Spike, hardly even blinking. Angel stopped dead in his tracks in front of him. "I tried to reach you," he said, looking down with distaste at Spike's clothes.

Spike picked up his cell phone. The display read '12 missed calls.' "Um... I'm just clubbin' a little." Spike said, squirming. His voice revealed several levels of discomfort. "Not milk carton material just yet."

"I called you at Willow's and Xander's, but you weren't there," Angel said, slowly leaning in closer. His lips grazed the skin on Spike's neck as he continued in a quiet voice, too low to reach Buffy's ears but loud enough to vibrate against Spike's skin. "So I guessed that you were here, flaunting yourself for your little..." Spike saw him glancing over at Buffy. "Friends." Angel's eyes were cold and hard. "They better know that you're mine," he whispered. In one swift move he snaked his hands around Spike's waist and pulled him out of his chair. His mouth came crashing down on Spike's with a fierce intensity.

Buffy stared at the scene, unsure of what to make of it. She quickly tore her eyes away, looking closely at the bottles behind the bar instead, a crack on the wall, some guys in the corner who were.... Ok... looking at Spike again. Stupid pretty lips on someone else, on pretty boyfriend. Right. Looking at the guys in the corner again.

Angel's lips were forceful, punishing, his tongue demanding, sliding against Spike's in a powerful dance. Spike felt lightheaded. This moment was all right and all wrong. Probably more of the later, but when he was flushed and panting he didn't question things to closely. When Angel finally pulled away, he stared at Spike in silence for a moment with a look that made him shiver, and not just in a good way. "We're leaving," he said, and grabbed Spike's arm.

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. As Angel led him away, he threw an apologetic look at Buffy, before he disappeared into the crowd. Buffy blinked. What the hell had just happened?

* * * * * *

The bed squeaked as Spike fell back on it, his pale, naked body splayed on the mattress like he was a blushing virgin prepared for a ritual slaughter. His eyes were both lidded and hesitant, looking up at Angel's clothed form in silence. Soon Angel got down on his knees on the bed without breaking the eye contact and reached for something on the floor. As Angel leaned forward, Spike sat up to kiss him. Suddenly he felt his arms being pulled together and the cotton cloth of a bathrobe string tightening around his wrists. As Spike looked up at him with a questioning gaze, Angel straddled his thighs, leaning up close against Spike's chest, his lips grazing Spike's. "Don't you wanna play?" he asked in a low voice, his teeth starting to nip their way down neck and chest.

As he bit down on a hardened nipple, Spike twitched. "Yes!" he gasped. As soon as the admission passed his lips, Spike felt himself being pushed back on the bed, a sudden pain coursing through his uncomfortably restricted arms. As he struggled back up into a sitting position, Angel got up next to the bed. He walked over to the open wardrobe, then returned holding a cotton scarf. "Angel...?" Spike asked as Angel tied the scarf tightly over his eyes, but he didn't get any answer.

"Well then, let's play." Angel's voice was dark.

Spike stared into the dark cloth. His breath seemed loud, like it was echoing through the room. "Shouldn't we have some kind of safe word or something?"

There was a small sound of Angel's shirt sliding off his body and falling to the floor. "No," he said.

The whole situation was twisted, but Spike couldn't help it; he was already impossibly hard. Angelís voice stirred something deep inside of him. Made him scared. Made him ready to beg for more. His heart beat harder as he heard Angel's remaining clothes fall to the floor. He closed his eyes behind the dark cloth, waiting.

Angel's steps momentarily receded from the room and Spike could hear him scrambling through a couple of drawers. He then walked back into the bedroom, dropping some things on the bedside table. "What are you doin', Angel?" Spike asked.

Swiftly, Angel got down on the bed and grabbed Spike hair, jerking him forward. Spike winced from the sudden pain. "Did I tell you that you could talk?"

"N... no, but..."

"Then shut up!" Angel snapped, pulling even harder on Spike's hair.

Spike gasped and bowed his head. "Good bitch," Angel whispered, his lips grazing over Spike's cheek. Angel's hands left Spike's trembling body and for a couple of minutes; the room was almost silent. Spike was sitting still, afraid to move or wonder where all this was going.

Suddenly a whistling sound cut through the air, followed by a burning streak of pain on his back. Spike hollered from the shock and the sharp ache, arching his back forward. He blinked behind the blindfold. Heat surged through his body, carrying fear, lust, pain, and everything in between.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Angelís voice rumbled behind him. Within seconds the hard material slapped down on his ass, this time even harder. Spike swallowed the distressed noises his throat wanted to produce. His body tensed as an unconscious protection, trying to shield itself with hard muscles and tightly strung tendons.

The weight of Angel's body left the bed. "That's right, bitch. Know your place." Spike heard Angel walking slowly along the bed. He then leaned forward, his voice vibrating next to Spike's ear. "Do you remember whose little slut you are?" Once more, the improvised whip came down on his aching ass. "Or do you forget when you see a nice rack?" When the blow came this time, it broke the skin. Spike twisted his body, his face contorting into a pained grimace. His cock, though, seemed to have a life of its own, growing, throbbing, begging for attention, clearly not aware that pain was a bad thing and that Angelís words were cold and sharp.

Spike suddenly felt the soft, wet surface of a tongue sliding slowly over the narrow gash, saliva mingling with the seeping blood. As Angel pulled back he harshly twisted Spike's shivering body, pressing their lips together, a bloody tongue invading Spike's mouth. A coppery taste reached Spike's unsuspecting taste buds. "Do you like it?Ē Angel asked in a low voice. "Do you like the taste of your own pain?" Without waiting for an answer, Angel shoved Spike forward, burrowing his head into the mattress, his hand gripping Spike's is neck tightly.

Spike felt Angel shift to the side and a vague sound came from the bedside table. Suddenly he felt a hot drop of wax landing on his sweaty skin. Spike blinked away a few budding tears of pain. Moments later the drops continued in a steady rhythm, raining down over Spike's burning body. He couldn't help letting out gasps against the mattress, finally moaning out loud. Immediately the drops stopped falling. Angel reached out and grabbed something. Soon Spike felt Angel's cock at his entrance, and before he could brace himself, Angel rammed his scarcely slicked-up member as far as it could go, splitting Spike open in the process. Spike raised his head, letting out a cry, but Angel pushed his head back into the mattress, continuing without pause to pump into Spike's ass, his dick slick with lube and blood. "Like being fucked?" he panted. "Like being taken like the bitch you are?" Spike didn't answer. His face was deeply buried in the pillow, contorted with pain and excitement. As their mutual panting grew in intensity, Angel reached around Spike's torso, taking the base of his hard dick in a firm grip. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out and came hard, his body jerking as he spurted the milky fluid over Spike's back and ass.

Angel leaned back on one arm, breathing deeply, the other one still holding Spike's dick in a firm grip.

Minutes later, Angel finally shifted, leaning forward. "So, do you think I should let you come?"

"Yes" Spike moaned, moving his body to try to get some friction against his aching cock.

"Whose bitch are you?" Angel asked.

Spike hesitated. "Y...Yours!" he finally gasped.

With that, Angel started stroking him at a quick pace. Within a minute, Spike erupted on the mattress, spilling a white sticky puddle in front of him. As he was coming down from the orgasm, he suddenly became very aware of the spatter of semen running down his back, the aching of his restricted wrists. And of Angel, sitting behind him in silence. "Could... could you...?" he asked cautiously.

A moment later he felt Angel's hands untying him. The hands then continued up his arms, the fingers playing in the damp curls in the back of his head, finally moving up to remove the blindfold. Spike blinked, staring out into the dark room. He was sitting still, hardly even breathing. Lips placed a soft kiss on his shoulder. "I love you, Spike," Angel muttered.

Spike closed his eyes.


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